‘Yeah. Look, try to go back to sleep – I’ll call you again in the morning, once it’s over. I just thought you’d want to know straightaway.’
‘Wait,’ she says, before he can hang up. ‘What about Linda Kittiko?’
‘Martino says these new leads should help us find her. I’ll call you first thing tomorrow, okay?’
‘Okay. Good hunting,’ she manages to say before he disconnects.
Emma feels her way back to bed. She lies there in the dark and does not think about videotapes. Then she does not think about Linda Kittiko, and pink nails, and the round opaque lenses of Peter’s glasses in the Paradise nightclub. They flash the burgundy of fresh blood, hiding his eyes from view …
Close to 3:00AM, and frustrated by lack of sleep, Emma tries another strategy. She pretends that Bell is sitting on the sofa nearby, quietly reading reports, turning pages, holding the watch, like he did that night back at Quantico. Finally, her mind relaxes and her subconscious takes over, pulls her back under.
At 8:00AM, Bell calls with an update.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
That morning in Pittsburgh shows all the yellow fall colors echoed in the paintwork on Liberty Bridge. The streets are full of pedestrians in flat caps and beige coats, and the smell of rotten eggs wafts around as the city steams.
Carter’s makeshift office at headquarters in the Public Safety building has a wooden desk, two nondescript chairs, a metal filing cabinet, a ceiling fan. The window behind him is covered with a closed pearl-gray venetian blind with a crack in one of the slats, and a shard of squintingly bright light stabs Emma right in the eye as she eases through the door.
The man himself is on the phone, standing with the receiver wedged between neck and shoulder as he simultaneously talks and hunts through paperwork on the desk.
‘… then make sure they hold him.’ Carter sees her, waves her closer. He finds what he’s been searching for on the desk, puts it aside. ‘Don’t let them go to Justice without—’
‘Bell said I should come see you.’ Emma speaks in an undertone.
Carter covers the phone with a hand. ‘That’s right, thank you.’He removes his hand to complete the call. ‘Jack, I’ve gotta go. Call me again in an hour when we’ve got the deposition.’ He sets the receiver back in its cradle, gestures to a chair, smooths down his tie as he takes his own seat. He’s in the same suit as yesterday, without the jacket. ‘So Mr Bell told you what happened last night?’
Emma finds her posture straightening. ‘Bell called and said you got suspects.’
‘We found tapes, and we arrested three men.’ Carter’s face is tired but pleased. ‘Now I should stress that we’ve compared the arrested men to your composite picture, and none of them are a match. None of these men are the College Killer. But we think these arrests will generate a lot of new leads related to the videotapes – who owned them, who distributed them, who they were distributed to. And that should lead us to Peter.’
‘Okay.’
‘Of the men we arrested, one is in Ohio – Bell is still on the ground there with Mike Martino. Another man we arrested in Massachusetts – Jack Kirby is currently coordinating a full search of that man’s residence. Do the names Todd Benneau or Vincent Chavez have any meaning for you?’
‘No,’ Emma says.
‘Okay. I have some mug shots I’d like you to look at, Miss Lewis, if you think you’re up for that.’
‘Sure.’ Emma arrows in. ‘This is all the result of the information you got from Simon Gutmunsson?’
‘That’s correct,’ Carter confirms. ‘Gutmunsson has been very helpful.’
‘That’ll be a first. Usually he just jerks law enforcement around. And you said you’d consult me on it. Am I allowed to know the details of that now?’
‘I’m afraid we had to move quickly, which is why you weren’t consulted.’ Carter leans his forearms on the desk, shirtsleeves rolled. ‘There were names of videotape collector contacts, and some suggestions about delivery services, which we’d already begun work on anyway. But the names were very useful. We’re hoping to talk to Gutmunsson again this afternoon—’
‘You said three men,’ Emma interrupts.
‘The third man, Derrick Brosky, was arrested here in Pittsburgh.’
‘Here?’Emma startles. ‘Is he—’
‘He isn’t Peter.’ Carter takes on a calming tone. ‘You can look at his mug shot, too, but as I said, physically Brosky bears no resemblance to the composite you helped create. We’ve spoken to him briefly—’
‘He’s in this building?’ Again, Emma experiences a light shock, as if she’s missed a step going down.
‘Yes. I hope that doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable.’
